


the porn paragraphs

by synecdochic



Series: take these broken wings [7]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Imported, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-13
Updated: 2008-07-13
Packaged: 2018-05-30 17:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synecdochic/pseuds/synecdochic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a while, whenever I was having a bad day, I'd write porn with these two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> Some of them are really pushing the boundaries of 'paragraph'. They fit at various parts of the timeline; I always considered them deuterocanonical.
> 
> First one [originally posted](https://synecdochic.dreamwidth.org/139188.html) 2007-07-13.

"Hang on," JD says, fingers scrabbling for purchase against the wall; "hang on, hang on, your legs, don't --" _Don't kneel down here, we'll never get you up_ , or _don't put your weight on your thighs like that_ , or even _don't do that, it's going to hurt like hell and it's not worth it_ , but Cam doesn't let him finish the sentence, is too busy sucking on JD's cock like it's a lollipop. Thick and hot and wet and oh-so-delicious, Cam kneeling down between his feet, JD wearing nothing but a pair of old soft jeans, Cam naked from the shower. Not quite like the way Cam remembers it being, the days when he'd be in civvies in the alley of a bar just far enough from base for there to be a chance he wouldn't be IDed, some fresh-faced lieutenant who'd never known anything but Don't Ask, Don't Tell gasping above him as Cam swallowed him down, but close enough, close as he's ever going to get these days, and he doesn't miss the clink, clank, bang of the tags swinging against his breastbone as much as he thought he might. "Mitchell," JD says, bare dark plea, and Cam closes his eyes and lets the fantasy take shape: JD's a hot shit new pilot sent down to him for training, _Major Mitchell sir they say you're the best sir I want to learn from you sir will you teach me_ , lowering his lashes, coy and sweet and innocent, and Cam's saying _sure, but you know, you've gotta feel her, put your hands on her controls and let her show you how she likes to be touched_ , and _like this?_ JD says, circles his hands around Cam's wrists like he's cupping the 302's stick, and Cam catches his wrists and says _yeah, now listen, lean into it, here, with me_ , or no, maybe JD's his commanding officer, and Cam's been called into his office, _Major Mitchell, there are some -- discrepancies in reports of your performance_ , and Cam makes his eyes all innocent and round and says _performance, sir? I can assure you, all I want is for my performance to be satisfactory_ , and JD raises an eyebrow and leans forward in his chair and says _I don't believe we're talking about the same sort of performance, perhaps it would be best if you gave a demonstration_ and Cam goes down on his knees right there and rubs his cheek against the wool of the uniform's inseam, or maybe they're both at a bar and their eyes meet for that one click-snap of _yeah, I recognize you, not you but your type, you're out looking too_ , and ten minutes later they're back in a bathroom stall trying not to make enough noise to bring down anyone who might notice them. JD's hands tangle in Cam's hair, too gentle, too considerate, and Cam breathes in through his nose and opens up his throat, his eyes watering, taking JD's cock in deeper -- the way he used to do it, the way he _likes_ to do it, the way he can't do it anymore, all _shit, I'm gonna make you come, I'm gonna wring it out of you with my own mouth until you're seeing stars_. JD hisses and his fingers twist, and Cam can _feel_ him holding back, feel him trying to keep his hips from snapping forward, feel him stopping himself from fucking Cam's face. But Cam knows what this feels like, the delicious nastiness of being pushed up against a wall and done fast and hard and rough, and JD's never going to get a chance to know the same thrill of potential discovery, never going to get off on the danger of illicit liaisons the way Cam used to, but Cam can give him a little bit of this. If JD never fantasized about rough and anonymous, never fetishized the uniform and the tags and the complex and complicated rules queer boys in the Air Force build to avoid giving away the fact that they really are faggots, well, Cam will _eat_ his fucking dress blues. He wonders what scenarios are playing out in JD's head. ( _General O'Neill sir they say you're the best sir I want to learn from you sir will you teach me --_ ) Cam holds onto JD's hips with both hands, tight and bruising, and he thinks _yeah, come on, fuck me_ , and his mouth's watering and his thighs are burning but it's not the burn of pain, just the stretch and shift of being on his knees, of straining to match the way JD's body is reaching, yearning. JD makes a noise that sounds like he's coming apart at the seams, and inside his head Cam's trotting out all the old familiar fantasies that are worn smooth at the seams from the number of times he's gone over them again from the very beginning, and none of them, not a damn single one, can match the zing he always gets when JD comes with Cam's name on his lips.


	2. pervert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Originally [posted](https://synecdochic.dreamwidth.org/139291.html) 2007-07-13.)

\-- and the thing is, Cam _knows_ JD's not what he looks like, because really, all you have to do is spend three minutes staring at him to spot (even subconsciously) the way his body language is all wrong, or three minutes talking to him to realize his rhythms and patterns aren't those of a teenager, but that doesn't stop the message going straight down to his dick anyway, _you fucking pervert_ , as JD stretches and reaches up to the ceiling, and Cam's mouth starts watering at the thin little strip of belly peeking out from underneath the hem of his t-shirt. JD's mastered a whole host of expressions, from the wide innocent eyes to the sweet angel smile, all designed to convince an observer that he's exactly what he appears to be; JD's no idiot and Cam knows, _knows_ , that he works the tender-young-thing angle with everybody from the restaurant owners downstairs to the barista at the coffeeshop. _Such a nice young boy_ , and the nice young boy is sitting right next to him, one hand falling (casually, carelessly) on Cam's thigh, sweet hot dirty look thrown from underneath those lashes, lips rounding with a secret smirk, because they both know what he's doing. Cam knows this body -- knows it from the spot just behind JD's ear that makes JD's toes curl when Cam sets his teeth into it all the way down to the tendons on the backs of JD's ankles that tense and ease when Cam sinks into him, and every freckle and scar between -- but it still makes him breathless every time JD offers that body up. _Come on,_ JD's smile says, _I dare ya_ , and there's something in the curve of his neck and the arch of his back that makes Cam want to lay him on out and debauch and defile every square inch. JD's taunting him ( _come on, you know you wanna_ ) and Cam knows it's deliberate, knows JD knows it; it's a game they're playing, to see who can last the longest, to see who gives in to the tease first. The whole long length of JD, open and proud, calls to mind humid teenaged summer afternoons spent on work-crews, dressed in cutoff denim clinging tight to his thighs, watching the boy next door (and what _was_ his damn name) pouring water over his head and shaking the droplets off onto Cam's sun-soaked skin. JD's smile has the same kind of innocence to it, but with JD, it's an act and they both know it. No matter. JD's easy and free with the chance to play the nymphet; they both know it's nothing more than pretense. Neither of them are innocent, haven't been for a long time, but images have power and roles carry _charge_ , and these four walls are the boundaries of safe space for both of them. So he lets his knees fall open and pretends he doesn't notice JD's fingers creeping up his inseam, and he waits for JD to cue him in on what role he's supposed to be playing this time, what archetype it's his turn to embody, and as JD's tongue peeks out from between his lips in rapt concentration, Cam offers up silent thanks that he found himself a man who's just as damn perverted as he is.


	3. need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Originally [posted](https://synecdochic.dreamwidth.org/139563.html) 2007-07-14.)

"Yeah," JD says, "yeah, yeah, yeah," his eyes unfocused, his voice stuttering with every repetition, up the scale like bang bang bang as Cam folds his hands over JD's wrists and bears him down into the mattress. Cam barely has to move; he's got his dick positioned just right so that every tiny little stroke goes through JD like a bullet, and they've fucked five times already today, fucked the urgency straight out of them. Cam can keep JD trembling on the precipice of orgasm number six for a long damn time, stretching it out, teasing, lazily. It would be careless, thoughtless, except Cam's never thoughtless or careless when he's fucking JD; this gift is too precious. _C'mon_ , he thinks, _c'mon_ , and JD digs his heels into the backs of Cam's thighs and hitches himself up to meet each stroke. "Yeah," JD says, "yeah, fuck," and it's beautiful incoherence. They've fucked in the tub and they've fucked on the couch and they've fucked in the easy chair (hockey game running in the background, making out slow and lazy while JD worked himself against Cam's dick; _Jeopardy_ playing out another time, and Cam mumbled "what is Pachelbel's Canon" into JD's mouth in mid-fuck, earning both laughter and a punch in the arm). But Cam likes this best, these nights when he's taken it easy long enough that he can spend some of the hoarded coin of his ability to stretch out over JD's open and willing body, chest to chest and face to face, and hold him helpless until JD is begging. JD likes it when Cam can hold him down, when Cam can lean into him and over him and hold him helpless. It isn't what Cam would have expected would get JD off -- isn't what _JD_ expected would get JD off, both of them rock-solid sure that they'd need to avoid the minefields and pitfalls of years of scarring held over from JD's former life. But the first time they'd done it, the first time Cam had rolled over and pinned JD's wrists above him and settled his weight on JD's hips to fuck him deep and slow, JD had said _oh God_ all wrapped up in urgency and came against Cam's stomach, back arching, body bowing and accepting, and Cam had wrung curses from JD's lips. The brain is a weird and wonderful place. Cam fucks JD like this because JD gets off on it, because he likes seeing JD's body trembling and exhausted, wrung out with the effort of bending to pleasure. It's like his own personal porn show, the way JD opens up for him, the way JD struggles against Cam's weight but never says _no no no_ , only _yes_ and _yes_ again. JD's never trying to get free, just get Cam to bear down harder, and so Cam leans his weight on JD's wrists and tells JD with his body that it's okay to make himself vulnerable, let himself be claimed, because Cam's not going to let go. "Yeah," JD says, "shit, yeah, Mitchell --" and Cam grits his teeth and fucks him deeper, the way JD likes it, the way JD wants it, because there's something so humbling in being the one JD comes to for this, and also because JD's body is so hot and tight and perfect, and he'd love nothing more than to ride this wave all afternoon, stay here in this bed that smells like sex and sweat and lube and come, because JD is beautiful like this, gasping and needy. _Baby_ , he thinks (but knows better than to ever say) and _mine_ he whispers against JD's shoulder, and JD's hips rise to meet his with every stroke, long and hard and slow. "Please," JD says -- glorious, urgent -- and Cam rests his open mouth on JD's tattooed skin, and what his body says in response is _anything you need. Anything._


	4. secrecy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Originally [posted](https://synecdochic.dreamwidth.org/139838.html) 2007-07-14.)

Cam has never been much for toys -- it's hard to find a place to stash them when you're living in barracks, and even BOQ doesn't rate too high on the privacy scale -- and he'd lay even money that JD's never come near one of those high-end "erotic boutique" stores, but there's no shame to overcome when you're ordering off the Internet and small discreet brown-paper-wrapped packages keep showing up on the steps. Books (how-to books and smutty stories, picture books tame enough to live on the coffee table and ones raunchy enough that they actually make Cam blush) and videos (JD has a totally mockable taste for lesbian porn, the cinema-vérité real-people-videos where the girls actually have short fingernails and aren't faking it when they come; Cam laughs at him at first, then finds himself getting quiet and watching along, and finally JD sits behind him and puts his hand down Cam's sweats and strokes his dick slow and sweet, whispering dirty words in Cam's ear while on the screen a girl with piercings all up and down her labia takes her girlfriend's fist and begs for more) and flavored lube (Cam's favorite is the blueberry; JD develops a distinct taste for the mocha) and condom samplers galore, and Cam chalks it up to a combination of JD's body's teenage hormones and his brain's liberation at finally, finally being able to indulge itself. Still, he's game for just about anything -- JD hasn't had a bad idea yet -- and so he doesn't bat an eyelash when JD drops his pants to reveal a silicone cock ring or guides Cam's hand to clip on nipple rings, tug on the chain. JD's exploring, is all. Running through what must be every single jerk-off fantasy he's had for the past forty years. Cam can get behind that -- or in front of it, or on top of it, or underneath it, wherever JD wants him to be. And Cam _gets_ it, really he does; JD's got years of repression to make up for, and Cam's just honored to be invited along for the ride. "C'mere," JD says, one Saturday night when they've been working so hard Cam thinks his eyes might cross if he spends one minute more staring at the laptop screen, and Cam goes -- FedEx special delivery that afternoon, and that means JD's got a plan, sweet or diabolical or anywhere in between. "I had an idea," JD says, with the smirk that says the evening's choreography is likely to be more on the fiendish side, and that's how Cam finds himself up on his elbows and knees on the bed with JD's fingers up inside him, opening and plundering and making him wiggle and squirm. He's about to start begging, about to spread himself out and make JD fuck him senseless, when there's the cold swish of lube and then there's something filling him, smooth and comfortable and resting just up against the spot that makes his knees go all weak. JD fits himself up against Cam's back, mouthing at the shell of Cam's ear, his hands roaming up Cam's sides, and Cam shudders and bears down. The toy is glass or Pyrex or some smooth cool material, and Cam can feel it sweet and snug, holding him open and ready. And then JD laughs, low and wicked, and rolls off the bed. "Put on your jeans," he says; "I'm hungry, I could go for some sushi," and Cam has to laugh, because he sees what tonight's game is going to be. He doesn't bother with underwear -- he's three-quarters hard still, and the cool metal of the zipper just adds to the delicious torment, and every time he moves he can feel the depth, the _pressure_ , and JD is stretched out on the bed with his hands behind his head, watching, waiting, lips rounded in a devil smirk and eyes dark with pleasure and pride. JD keeps trying to find something Cam will say _no_ to, will keep pushing with a taunt and a dare but always convinced that any moment, he's going to come hard up against one of Cam's limits. But Cam doesn't have many limits, and so he puts a little shimmy into his slide into his jeans, ignoring the twinge of his hip that says a storm's brewing, and it makes him moan soft and sweet. JD grins at the sound, comes up in front of Cam to slide one hand into Cam's back pocket and cup Cam's ass with a squeeze that makes all sorts of interesting things go on down there. "Gonna fuck you senseless when we get home," JD promises, and Cam laughs. "You gotta buy me dinner first before you can get me to put out," he says; "I'm not that kind of boy," and JD laughs right back. Cam's turned on fit to beat the band, but JD's turned on too -- Cam can see it around his mouth, around his eyes, in the way he carries himself through the shoulders. It's the only tell; JD's damn good at hiding it. But Cam knows _precisely_ why this gets him going. It hits all of JD's control buttons, all of his attempts to reclaim and empower the concept of secrecy. And Cam's gotta admit, the thought of sitting in a restaurant with a butt-plug nestled in him and JD's eyes fucking him across the table, the two of them sharing a single pornographic secret, makes him want to squirm. So he palms JD's cock through the fabric of his jeans, squeezing _just_ the way he knows JD likes it, and lets happy thoughts of getting his mouth on JD's dick run through his head, and he watches JD's eyes fix on his mouth as he licks his lips and wonders which one of them is getting more out of this. But that's the beautiful part of his life right now: they both are.


	5. warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Originally [posted](https://synecdochic.dreamwidth.org/140357.html) 2007-07-16.)

There's something so comfortably domestic about thermostat wars, which Cam loves even while he's in the middle of wanting to wrap his hands around JD's throat and squeeze. Cam likes to keep the apartment hot; it might be a Colorado December out there, but by God, he will not put up with cold toes in his own home. JD likes it chilly at best and downright arctic at worst, and so throughout the day, every time one of them goes by the thermostat, it goes up, down, up, down. Nighttime, though, that's always the same: Cam turns the heat up and JD leaves the windows open and they both strip down and nestle underneath the blankets. JD's got his feet peeking out from under the covers, Cam's all tucked up tight and warm, and JD spoons up behind him and maps skin to skin everywhere he can reach. JD's like a furnace; he sheds heat like a desert rock that's been lying in the sun all day, so hot to the touch Cam would think him feverish if it wasn't like that every time Cam touched him. They sleep naked, and the weight of JD's cock nestled against Cam's ass always makes him want to rock his hips back into it, even when they've worn each other out, even when they're both exhausted and want nothing more than to sleep. Sometimes he likes those nights best, the nights when JD closes his fingers lightly around Cam's dick, not to stroke, just to _hold_ , and rests his lips against the knobs of Cam's spine, his breathing soft and even. Nights like those, they've got their own little oasis of warmth (even _if_ it's fucking freezing outside the bed -- fresh air or no fresh air, would it _kill_ the fucker to give in by just five degrees?) and Cam can drift off to sleep feeling cherished, feeling secure. Cam's roomed with people most of his adult life, but this is the first time he's ever regularly _slept_ with someone; lovers and fuckbuddies and one-night-stands have all graced his beds, but he's never had someone stick around long enough for his body to learn how to make space for them, for his instincts to render them not threat but comfort. So he burrows against JD's warmth, night after night, and some nights they talk and some nights they fuck and some nights they just sleep: enough routine to be reassuring, enough variance so it's never dull. And sometimes, he wakes up in the middle of the night, rising to consciousness softly, in layers, slipping from dream to awareness so slowly he can't say where one blooms and the other falls away, JD's arm an anchor over his hip, JD's hand stroking him softly. Hips rocking together, cresting long and slow, and they slide together in the darkness until they're both gasping and shivering and swelling with heat and pleasure and a silent, triumphant note of joy.


	6. ability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Originally [posted](https://synecdochic.dreamwidth.org/140567.html) 2007-07-16.)

The thing Cam likes best about their sex life -- well, there are a lot of things Cam likes about their sex life, and which one gets the title of "best" at any given time depends on so, so many different things, but. The thing he likes best is the way JD doesn't treat him like he's about to break. For the past year and a half, everyone in his life -- doctors, nurses, family, even random strangers and passers-by -- has treated him like a china doll, like they need to round off all the sharp corners and bubble-wrap all the rough edges and planes lest he fracture into a thousand pieces. It's a sobering enough feeling knowing that he's handicapped; he has his nose rubbed in it a thousand times a day just by the physical world around him, and all the well-meaning but overbearing coddling does is make him want to grit his teeth and start hitting people in the shins with his cane. JD doesn't do that. JD is always painstakingly careful, but JD never shies away from _rough_ ; he'll hold Cam down, move him around, push and pull and prod until Cam's body cooperates into doing what they both want it to do. JD will shove back Cam's head with a hand to the chin so he can lick along the length of Cam's throat, plant him face-down across the kitchen table (always with his weight balanced _just_ right to keep from hurting) and nudge his legs open so JD can fuck him, right there, fast and hard. Cam knows JD is watching him for signs: watching for the squint and wince at the corners of his eyes, watching the lines of his mouth and waiting for the fleeting press of lips, the clenching of his jaw, and the minute JD sees any of them, he backs off and changes direction so smoothly Cam barely sees the seams. JD never remarks on the scars, neither lingers over them nor avoids them entirely; they are simply part of Cam's body, and JD accepts and cherishes the body entire. It's easier, somehow, for Cam to accept his limitations when they aren't the unspoken third party to every conversation, every set of actions. It isn't as though JD doesn't care; he simply integrates Cam's capabilities and disabilities into every action he takes, and he doesn't shy away from coming straight up against those limits when he feels like it and Cam's amenable. And he usually feels like it, and because he does -- because he cares, because he's careful, because he treats Cam like nothing more and nothing less than what he is and how he works, because in his eyes Cam is a _person_ and not a set of limitations or a series of workarounds -- Cam is usually amenable, is willing to put himself in JD's hands and let JD take control, touch him and use him and taste him and play with him. In JD's eyes, under JD's hands and mouth and cock and tongue, Cam's body is not made perfect, but his flaws and his scars become nothing more than punctuation, an aside to the symphony of lust the two of them build together. JD makes Cam feel capable again, and that's the gift Cam values above and beyond most everything else JD has given him. And hey, sex is good physical therapy, after all.


	7. noise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Originally [posted](https://synecdochic.dreamwidth.org/140840.html) 2007-07-16.)

It's a game, really, even if it's just a game with himself, even if JD never knows Cam's playing it. With just a little prompting, JD will talk dirty in Cam's ear while they're fucking, everything from a ragged _fuck, fuck, yeah, fuck, there_ all the way up to full-tilt pornographic fantasies of exactly what he wants to do to Cam, what he wants Cam to do to him. He'll reel off language that would make a sailor blush and never bat an eyelash (although God help you if you try to get him to talk about sex when he's not in the process of actually having it; JD has some pretty firm notions of propriety, for all he's discarded so many inhibitions, and Cam finds it almost charming how JD compartmentalizes so firmly). And Cam likes that, likes hearing JD's voice scrape rough and jagged over tales of things he always wanted to do and never has, things he wants to do and someday will -- because it gives him a line into JD's private fantasies, because it tells him what turns JD on and what leaves him cold, but mostly because it's hotter than a Mississippi delta summer heatwave to hear JD spinning stories about sucking dick in roadhouse bars or jerking Cam off in the back of a movie theatre. But that's not it, _the_ noise, the one Cam keeps chasing after. He only hears that one when he's got JD so far gone his engine's running white-hot, pushed far past overdrive, when JD's brain has shut down and he can't even process language anymore, can't even put together a single word. It comes when JD's flown past _yeah, yeah_ , trailing consonants behind him, turning _yeah_ into an elided moan, half-whine, _eh eh eh_ pushed past dry and gasping lips on every exhale, timed with each stroke of Cam's dick in his ass (so hot so tight so welcoming). And JD closes his eyes and holds his breath and leans up into Cam's body, still and taut, reaching, climbing, and Cam holds on tight, lets his mind supply the words JD's usually saying, _fuck, fuck, yeah, fuck, yeah,_ every move punctuated with a silent _yeah, there, fuck_ , and JD's thighs tremble and his head falls back and he comes against Cam's skin, shuddering, explosive, his whole body unfolding into it, and there, that's the noise, one fleeting exhale with the barest hint of voice behind it, stark and shocking in the silence surrounding them: _oh_.


	8. warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Originally [posted](https://synecdochic.dreamwidth.org/168806.html) 2007-11-27.)

Cam is lying face-down on their size-of-a-small-nation bed, one knee drawn up and to the side, just enough to take the weight off his hip, and JD is stretched out: over him, around him, inside him, up against his back and between his legs, skin hot enough to scorch. "Come on," JD murmurs in Cam's ear, follows it up with his teeth grazing along Cam's earlobe, tiny nips along the shell of Cam's ear, and Cam's too far gone in pleasure to put what he's feeling into words, because it doesn't go there even when he's _not_ two steps away from coming. Safety and security and care and _love_ , all wrapped up in warmth and presence; the burn of JD's skin, the deliberation with which JD rocks his hips. JD might have the body of a teenager, a teenager's urges, but the mind inside that body is that of a mature man, secure in the knowledge that sex is better sometimes when it's all drawn out, and so he's taking it slow-but-not-gentle, and each stroke layers on top of the next until Cam's nearly sobbing with the way it all just feels _so damn good_. "Come on," JD says again, and his mouth closes on Cam's shoulder, and Cam can feel the furnace of JD's _need_ made real in the heat against his back. "I got you. I got you." And Cam shudders and shivers, wanting nothing more than to push back against it, the feeling of JD's dick stretching him open, filling him, pleasuring him, but JD's told him _no_ , JD's told him _don't move_ , JD's told him _let me_ and _stay put_ and a whole host of other things that aren't orders, just strong suggestions, so Cam clenches his fists in the pillow and breathes through the desire and just _surrenders_ : offering himself up, laying himself out, giving himself over to heat and need and letting JD drive him out of his mind with the wanting, and he thinks: not a bad way to warm up the sheets before sleep after all.


	9. rough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Originally [posted](https://synecdochic.dreamwidth.org/168806.html) 2007-11-27.)

It took Cam a damn long time before he came to terms with all the things he's lost, left behind in a ruined cockpit on a sea of Antarctic ice, never to get back again, but one of the things they don't tell you about is the way you've gotta retrain your entire stable of sexual practices -- the things you spent years building up, the things that work for you, the things that never fail to go straight from your atavistic hindbrain straight down to your dick and your hips and your balls. They still work for him, the old familiar fantasies, but he can't _do_ them anymore, not the way he used to, not without a hell of a lot of planning and preparing that just takes all the fucking spontaneity out of things. Still, there are days when he thinks JD's getting a little too careful, a little too solicitious, and those are the days when Cam takes an extra dose of his pain pills and says _the hell with it_. Some things are worth hurting for, later. The first time he does it -- grabs JD by the waistband of his jeans and shoves him face-down across the back of the chair in that too-cramped apartment, strips his jeans down to his waist and fucks him hard and senseless -- JD comes undone in the most beautiful of ways, grinding his face into the chair cushions and cursing like a sailor. From there, once he knows how much it turns JD on (to be _used_ like that, rough and tender all at once, given a chance to feel all the things he never thought he'd feel and be left with his body aching and reminding him afterwards), he knows how to time it: the good days, the days when the weather isn't changing and the things he's been asking of himself lately haven't been too strenuous. The days when he can pretend to be able-bodied, for just a little while. Long enough to throw JD across any available surface and fuck him until he's begging, until he's reveling in the sensations. Long enough for him to signal JD, in their own personal shorthand: _it's okay, go ahead, be rough with me_. Long enough for him to forget that his legs don't work right anymore and his spine alignment is shot to shit and half his toes just ain't there, no matter how much he thinks he can feel them. He wonders, sometimes, what he and JD would have been like -- what they would have had -- if they'd known each other Before -- but that way lies madness, because if they'd known each other Before, they wouldn't have had this. Their partnership's hard-won, and Cam wouldn't trade it for anything. So he downs the extra pills in advance and chases them with a shot of Jack, grits his teeth and knows he'll pay for it later and knows it won't matter. It's worth it to be able to pretend, just for a little while, and JD always looks at him later -- pupils blown, chest heaving, scratches and bite-marks and once or twice a faintly-coloring bruise -- and, yeah. Cam's not made of spun sugar; he's not going to break. The times he can remind JD of that might be the sweetest times of all.


	10. again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Originally [posted](https://synecdochic.dreamwidth.org/231567.html) 2008-07-13.)

The morning after they fuck for the first time -- _really_ fuck, the whole nine yards, not blowjobs or handjobs or mutual masturbation -- Cam actually wakes up first, miracle and hallelujah, with the whole full weight of JD sprawled across his chest and snoring. It's not the norm -- even in sleep JD is usually carefully solicitous, sleeping _near_ him but not _against_ him, not on or over or around him -- but even though the position they're twisted in puts way too much pressure on Cam's bad hip he can't bring himself to care. JD's kicked off the covers (and what _else_ is new there) but Cam's not cold, because JD's skin is like a furnace, warm and wonderful, and he puts his hand on the curve of JD's shoulder and traces the lines of JD's ink, feeling the ever-so-faintly raised edges of each mark and whorl. And he should know better than to believe he could get away with it without waking JD, but at least JD wakes smoothly; _good morning_ and not _red alert_ , because Cam's on his safe list, Cam's behind his walls and his defenses, and that's about as much of a thrill as anything else they've done in this bed. "Morning," JD says, against his shoulder, wide awake and alert but not bothering to move until Cam tells him it's not okay, and Cam wants to just stay there like that, soak up the feel of skin against skin until the end of time, but there's plenty of time for that. He rolls them over until they're both lying on their sides, facing each other, and his dick slides against JD's as they go, and hey, yeah, good morning indeed. And maybe it should be awkward, maybe they should spend some time figuring out where the hell they're going with this, maybe they should stop and talk about what they want and what's on offer, but JD's reaching for his cock with his very best lazy-eyed smile, and Cam sucks in air and says fuck it; he's too busy wanting to figure out what he's supposed to want, so he grabs JD's wrist before JD can settle in, stills JD's hand before JD can strip him down to crazy, and says, "My turn." He doesn't know if he's expecting JD to smile wider or to tell him he can't, they shouldn't, not with Cam's body being the bastard that it is, but he doesn't expect what he gets, which is the smile falling straight off JD's lips to be replaced by a look he's never seen before. Dark. Hungry. For a minute he wonders what he did wrong, which of JD's invisible tripwires he's stumbled over, and then JD is rolling him over, urging him down, and ten minutes later when he has his face in the pillow and JD's weight against his back, JD's lips on the nape of his neck, JD's hand on his dick and JD's dick in his ass and his whole fucking body on fire with it, and he realizes what that look was: it was desire.


End file.
